A Sassy Redheadhttp://asassyredhead.com
Thu, 25 Jun 2015 16:33:42 +0000en-UShourly1https://wordpress.org/?v=4.4.5ASassyRedheadhttps://feedburner.google.comThis Daniel is probably part of the reason my hair is frazzled and I’m living in a fog and I don’t even know who this Daniel is.http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ASassyRedhead/~3/Rhm9tvJDy1A/this-daniel-is-probably-part-of-the-reason-my-hair-is-frazzled-and-im-living-in-a-fog-and-i-dont-even-know-who-this-daniel-is.html
http://asassyredhead.com/2015/06/this-daniel-is-probably-part-of-the-reason-my-hair-is-frazzled-and-im-living-in-a-fog-and-i-dont-even-know-who-this-daniel-is.html#commentsThu, 25 Jun 2015 16:13:05 +0000http://asassyredhead.com/?p=2021Here’s just a few snippets of stupid crap that’s happened around the house over the last few days. (And if you think that hormonal teenager was involved in this stupid crap, you’d be right.) (What gave it away? The ‘stupid crap’ part?) Anyway. ME: “You want me to bake you a potato?” HER: “Yes, and […]]]>

Here’s just a few snippets of stupid crap that’s happened around the house over the last few days.

(And if you think that hormonal teenager was involved in this stupid crap, you’d be right.)

(What gave it away? The ‘stupid crap’ part?)

Anyway.

ME: “You want me to bake you a potato?”

HER: “Yes, and don’t forget to poke holes in it with a fork. Wait…I’ll just do it.”

ME: “Uh, trust me. I know to fork the potato then wrap it in foil.”

HER: “No, I’ll do it. I can do it better.”

ME: “Good. Maybe you can do the dishes and sweep the floor better, too.”

(WHAT THE WHAT? She can fork the potato BETTER?)

(Who, with anything more than tree sap for brains, says that?)

(Coming from the one who wrecked her daddy’s truck after driving it less than 2 miles down the road.)

(Coming from the one who has a room that smells like feet.)

(Ehem.)

ME: “Sweetie, can you please wipe off the table and put the place mats and flowers back on it?”

HER: “Sure.”

(Why is this stupid crap? Because she did exactly as she was told. And not one iota more.)

(Iota – [ahy-oh-tuh] – not one ounce more.)

(I failed to also ask her to also remove the two water glasses prior to wiping the table.)

(So, she simply wiped around the two water glasses, put the place mats down, put the flowers back in place, and went to her room.)

(To rest. Because she worked four hours that day.)

(Four. Hours.)

(Four.)

(Leaving the water glasses untouched on the table.)

(How do I spell out the huge eye-roll I promptly did at that time?)

ME: “Oh, I’m supposed to find out for your dad, about this dude you went out with last night, but we’ll just tell him I nosed around because I already know all I need to know.”

HER: “What? How do you know I…wait, I never told you I went out with a guy. And I didn’t go out with a guy. What are you talking about?

ME: “Yes, you did.”

HER: “How do you know then?”

ME: “Because you ran out of here to pick up your dry cleaning and paid for it yourself. Then before you left for work, you put on makeup and actually ran a comb through your hair rather than just a lop-sided pony-tail. You wore cute clothes, sandals and perfume. Not your typical gym shorts, tennis shoes and ratty pony-tailed hair with mascara smudged under an eye. I asked you what you were doing after work and you said, ‘Going to the movies’ however, you never volunteered up WHO you were going with and any other time you tell me what you’re doing, you follow it up with who.”

HER: “You are so creepy!”

ME: (I just stare. No reaction. Just a deadpan stare.)

HER: “His name is Daniel. We’re just friends.”

(I knew a dude was involved. Without words.)

(“Creepy” for $400, Alex.)

During the middle of all this stupid crap going on, this surprises us on the kitchen bar:

(I told you about it on Facebook…remember?)

Again. WHO DOES THIS?

We are so “awkward” and “odd” and “creepy” and “just really weird” so we get flowers and chocolates and a card telling us how she loves us so much and appreciates everything we do for her even though she may not always tell us but she knows how lucky she is to have us?

Really??

Is this what frazzle-haired mom’s who look like they’re living in a fog mean when they say:

“Raising teenagers is like being pecked to death by a chicken.”

And…

“Teenagers are the sole reason God created wine.”

And…

“Reasoning with a teenager is like trying to nail Jello to the wall.”

Because that frazzle-haired mom living in a fog is slowly becoming me.

Rather quickly.

We go from hot-to-cold-to-colder-to-lukewarm-to-scorching-to-cold-again-to-no-water-running-at-all within seconds around this house.

(It’s that damn whoever-he-is-Daniel. I just know it is.)

]]>http://asassyredhead.com/2015/06/this-daniel-is-probably-part-of-the-reason-my-hair-is-frazzled-and-im-living-in-a-fog-and-i-dont-even-know-who-this-daniel-is.html/feed3http://asassyredhead.com/2015/06/this-daniel-is-probably-part-of-the-reason-my-hair-is-frazzled-and-im-living-in-a-fog-and-i-dont-even-know-who-this-daniel-is.htmlIn our house, the price of a .99 burrito just went up. Way up. Like may-take-months-to-pay-for-it way up.http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ASassyRedhead/~3/sYUnPPwMG_w/in-our-house-the-price-of-a-99-burrito-just-went-up-way-up-like-may-take-months-to-pay-for-it-way-up.html
http://asassyredhead.com/2015/02/in-our-house-the-price-of-a-99-burrito-just-went-up-way-up-like-may-take-months-to-pay-for-it-way-up.html#commentsThu, 19 Feb 2015 16:30:38 +0000http://asassyredhead.com/?p=2003It’s no secret. I’ve never blown a baby through my lady parts. Wanted to when I was in my 20’s…but it just never happened. But I wanted a baby regardless. As I aged, that desire took a back seat to life. I was older. I didn’t have the energy. Then I found myself single and […]]]>

It’s no secret. I’ve never blown a baby through my lady parts.

Wanted to when I was in my 20’s…but it just never happened.

But I wanted a baby regardless.

As I aged, that desire took a back seat to life. I was older. I didn’t have the energy. Then I found myself single and broker than broke.

Then I met a man I fell in love with and married.

Who had a 14-year-old girl.

Now that 14-year-old girl is a 16-year-old girl.

(A TEENAGER.)

(But I thought, “Here’s my chance at having that baby! And she’s past the 4:00 am feedings and none of my shirts will have baby puke stains on them!”)

I’ve heard horror stories of how teenagers can drive you to the brink of gauging your eyes out. And banging your head on the wall. And questioning your mere existence.

(I’ve heard it said that the teenage years clearly explain why animals eat their young.)

(Yes. I now get that. It makes complete sense to me at times.)

When many heard I married a man with a teenager, I heard:

“Oh, girl. I’ll pray for you.”

“Are you sure you want to jump in that fire? Teenagers are a breed of their own nobody understands.”

“What the hell are you thinking?”

I laughed it off.

In the last almost 2 years of my marriage…I have prayed more than I ever have in my life, I can never quite understand what is going on in her head and I question what is in mine, and I’ve muttered under my breath as I raise my head from the cabinet I just slammed it down on, “what the hell are you thinking?”

(On a serious note…she’s exceptionally good to me. She’s never been disrespectful, she’s never raised her voice, she’s always done anything I’ve asked without any eye-rolling or huffing and puffing.)

(But teenagers can be a mind game. Last week, twice I heard, “I love you” without even saying it first. Prior to that I was told I tell her I love her too much and I’m too affectionate.)

(I walk around in a daze with a puzzled look on my face most of the time.)

(But with her daddy? Uh…yeah, she’s sweet. But he gets more of an attitude than I ever do.)

(He handles it like a pro though. I guess it’s the cop in him.)

(He’s told me handling teenagers can be a lot like wrangling criminals.)

Anyway.

Just before she started driving, she INSISTED (because remember…teenagers know everything and we’re just idiots) she was going to drive her dad’s F250 4-wheel drive truck.

(I think she just wanted to be the cool chick on campus with the big truck like the boys.)

I suggested against it because (and like a fool, I used reason with her):

1. “Well, that’s a lot of truck for a new driver. You could back up over a toddler and never know it then we have to live with that for the rest of our lives.”

2. “It takes a lot of diesel to fill that thing up…are you sure that’s where you want your money to go?”

3. “Trust me, it’s tough to whip that thing around in parking lots and you’ll have a hard time parking it.”

Of course, she disagreed with all of this.

Because she knows better and she knows more.

(Kinda like I did when I was a 16-year-old teenage girl.)

Ehem.

Anyway.

When the time came to get her license, we gave her the option of a cute little four door car or a cute little four door car.

(Actually it was my car. The month I made the final payment was the month she started driving.)

(God does have a sense of humor.)

She chose the cute little four door car.

She drives that cute little four door car for about 8 months. Then it needs a little work, so in the shop it goes.

After using her sales tactics and making promises and reminding us of how she’s been a safe driver for 8 months now and hasn’t even had a close call, her daddy agrees to let her drive that F250 4-wheel drive truck for 2 days.

Only to school and work and back home.

(No cruising town. No going to friends house. No nothing. School to work to home.)

It is to be parked in the back part of the school parking lot. No one is to ride with her. It is to be driven with extreme caution.

For what felt like 17 years, all we heard for those 2 days was how ‘it’s so easy for her to drive,’ she has no problems handling it,’ and ‘what’s the big deal with just letting me drive it more?’

Her: “Daaaaaadddddy, I’m so sorry (sobsobsobsobslurpsobsnort), I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t mean to, I was (sobsobsobsnortslurp) just hungry and I’m soooooooo sorry!”

(Most of this sounded like she was speaking with her head in a bowl of water. Snorting, crying, slobbering, more snorting, gasping for air, etc.)

Daddy: “Where are you!!!???”

Her: “Taaaaaaacooooo Bell….can you come get me???!?!?”

I’m up and looking for my shoes and grabbing my purse and heading to the car.

He hangs up and follow me to the garage. Neither of us say much.

The over confident, all-knowing teenager is sitting in his truck with her head down on the steering wheel, sobbing like she just got dumped for prom, when we drive up.

After she got off work, she was hungry.

(She works at a restaurant.)

So she decided she’d whip through Taco Bell and grab her a .99 burrito.

(Because they’re so healthy.)

She goes through the drive-thru, places her order and then makes that tiiiiight left hand turn around the building headed to the pick-up window.

The only thing?

She took that yellow pole that protects the corner of the building with her.

(Because well, 1. That’s a lot of truck for a new driver and 2. It’s tough to whip that thing around in parking lots.)

(Yep. We’ve heard that somewhere before, haven’t we?)

(Can’t. Imagine. Where.)

She gets home, cleans her face and apologizes profusely.

And then says those magic words: “Man, that thing is bigger than I thought…I like my car much better.”

(My butt cheeks clinched and it took every fiber in my being to not scream, “AH HA! TOLD YOU! IF YOU WOULD JUST LISTEN!”)

Her daddy is one who believes we’re all accountable for our actions. Mistakes, accidents or not. And says she needs to feel the pain of having to pay for an accident and maybe next time, she’ll listen and see we aren’t idiots.

(Ha! Who is that dude kidding!!??)

So, that .99 burrito is costing her part of the deductible on his truck.

(He wanted to go for the whole deductible, but got a little soft and felt half was fair.)

So, until the shop can take the truck and make it new again…here’s what we have sitting in our driveway.

And there’s still eye-rolling. There’s still huffing and puffing. There’s still the occasional attitude.

Because apparently, teenagers don’t only know everything and can rule the world on their own, they have a very short memory.

Until the bill comes due.

]]>http://asassyredhead.com/2015/02/in-our-house-the-price-of-a-99-burrito-just-went-up-way-up-like-may-take-months-to-pay-for-it-way-up.html/feed13http://asassyredhead.com/2015/02/in-our-house-the-price-of-a-99-burrito-just-went-up-way-up-like-may-take-months-to-pay-for-it-way-up.htmlI’m now a winner and will frisk you if I need to. But don’t be jelly.http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ASassyRedhead/~3/b8sNQsQpKjA/im-now-a-winner-and-will-frisk-you-if-i-need-to-but-dont-be-jelly-2.html
http://asassyredhead.com/2015/01/im-now-a-winner-and-will-frisk-you-if-i-need-to-but-dont-be-jelly-2.html#commentsWed, 21 Jan 2015 21:40:16 +0000http://asassyredhead.com/?p=2000

I know, I know.

I haven’t blogged in ages. But its paid off and in a bit, you’ll see what NOT blogging got me.

Most people will say “winning ain’t easy” but not me. This time, it was a breeze.

But I do want to change that. The blogging more part. Not the not saying “winning ain’t easy” part.

Really. I do.

Anyway, I took a late lunch and had about no time to kill, but I still made time to spread my joy with you!

My life has changed.

As of today…I am a new woman. Life just got easier. And shinier. And other stuff I’m not even aware of yet, I’m sure.

(Ignore my nasty hair I didn’t shampoo this morning. I could say I was running late, but that would be a lie. I just didn’t feel like jacking with it.)

And don’t hate once you make it through the torment of my twang-y serenade.

(And don’t be jelly when you see how life just got better.)

(Don’t be jelly. Who SAYS that?)

(My nieces, that’s who. It’s short for ‘don’t be jealous’. I had to ask. So, apparently not only are they too lazy to call me or clean their rooms or answer a text, they’re too lazy to even properly finish one small little word.)

(It appears they might possibly get that lazy gene from me at the rate I’m blogging.)

]]>http://asassyredhead.com/2015/01/im-now-a-winner-and-will-frisk-you-if-i-need-to-but-dont-be-jelly-2.html/feed7http://asassyredhead.com/2015/01/im-now-a-winner-and-will-frisk-you-if-i-need-to-but-dont-be-jelly-2.htmlIt’s I-Don’t-Have-To-Be-Me-Weekend and you can bet that’s just who I’m NOT gonna be.http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ASassyRedhead/~3/W-znytYAyUo/its-i-dont-have-to-be-me-weekend-and-you-can-bet-thats-just-who-im-not-gonna-be.html
http://asassyredhead.com/2014/11/its-i-dont-have-to-be-me-weekend-and-you-can-bet-thats-just-who-im-not-gonna-be.html#commentsWed, 12 Nov 2014 16:03:06 +0000http://asassyredhead.com/?p=1985

I’m a bit nervous. Or scared. Or puzzled. Or something creepy feeling and unsure and skeptical.

My main squeeze and I are going to the Renaissance Festival this weekend.

With friends.

Dressing up in full costume, as always.

FULL. COSTUME.

(Because even though I’m not athletic, I’m gargantuanly competitive.)

(Go big-ass big, or go home.)

In the past, our hormonal teenager has called us the following for no reason other than the fact that she is 16 and that alone makes her so wise and worldly and knower of everything there is to know on the face of the Earth:

Old-school
Weirdos
Out of Date
Old folks
Nerds
Losers

Then there is the ever-present eye-rolling and huffing and puffing at almost every move we make.

The reason I am feeling all that crap I started this off with?

She, out of the blue, asked if she could go with us this weekend.

(There goes my weekend of unladylike behavior and debauchery.)

(I don’t know what debauchery means and not even sure I spelled it right.)

I kinda crapped a little.

I mean, I love her and all…but this is my adult weekend to not be me and just throw caution and my bra to the wind.

(Don’t visualize that.)

I can be ridiculous to the hilt and no one cares. I can be silly and no one stares. I can use my fake British accent and no one knows any different.

(OK. We all know they do know different because my southern twang is so heavy there is no way I can pull off a Princess Diana accent. But I try and the more wine I have the better it gets.)

There’s a festival during the day and masquerade ball at night and you know I’m going to out royalty anyone who has ever thought of donning a tiara.

(I’m unsure on ‘donning’, too….roll with me.)

(NO ONE UNDER 21 ALLOWED AT NIGHT AND YOU MUST HAVE A MASQUERADE MASK TO ENTER.)

(Thank you, Jesus!! Finally. I am seeing being old pays off and I promise I won’t point and laugh and sing-song “You’re too young to get in! You’re too young to get in!!”)

Is this some kind of set up? Is this some kind of plot to make my right eye constantly twitch the whole weekend??

My reply was my mother shooting out of my mouth before I could even realize it:

“You can go, but there are rules. Not one condescending word is to leave your pie hole. You will have fun. You will laugh. You will smile. You will NOT roll your eyes at us and you will enjoy yourself whether you like it or not. You will question nothing we do and you will go in costume. Yes, you will dress up. I’m not paying for you to go in those stupid leggings that are not pants and a t-shirt. No. You WILL be in costume and you will like it.”

Her reply?

“Great! I’ve already picked out a costume from the theater department at school!! They said I could use it just to bring it back clean!”

You’re kidding?

I mean, I just KNEW the going-in-costume part was my saving grace. My way out without being an old school, out of date, nerdy loser.

My way of saying “NO!” without saying “NO!”

She can only go during the day to the festival. She can’t go at night to the masquerade ball. What’s the point?? Why waste a day when you gotta blow off the night?

Keith, my husband, thinks she secretly likes us and sees all the miserably ridiculous fun we have and wants a part of it.

Me? Not so much.

I was a 16-year-old girl once and hanging with the old folks was NOT my idea of a tea party.

(Unless that tea party was really a beer party in disguise. Then, fine.)

Then it hit me: SHE’S GOING BECAUSE OUR FRIENDS THAT ARE GOING ARE BRINGING THEIR KIDS FOR THE DAY AND THEY HAVE HOT SONS.

That’s my girl. There she is. She’s going so she can oogle the eye candy.

And all this time, I thought she was out to kill me. Ruin my life.

When really, she doesn’t give a rats ass if I’m there or not. Just as long as the hot dudes are.

I must be rubbing off on her.

(Thank you, Jesus!)

]]>http://asassyredhead.com/2014/11/its-i-dont-have-to-be-me-weekend-and-you-can-bet-thats-just-who-im-not-gonna-be.html/feed15http://asassyredhead.com/2014/11/its-i-dont-have-to-be-me-weekend-and-you-can-bet-thats-just-who-im-not-gonna-be.htmlI might be married to the law but it’s a known truth “I” am the law and if I had no hair you could call me Kojak.http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ASassyRedhead/~3/Llz_fHouNIk/i-might-be-married-to-the-law-but-its-a-known-truth-i-am-the-law-and-if-i-had-no-hair-you-could-call-me-kojak.html
http://asassyredhead.com/2014/09/i-might-be-married-to-the-law-but-its-a-known-truth-i-am-the-law-and-if-i-had-no-hair-you-could-call-me-kojak.html#commentsWed, 17 Sep 2014 15:12:00 +0000http://asassyredhead.com/?p=1978

Now, we all know I’m the law-breaker in my house and my husband is the law enforcer.

He’s a deputy. I’m not.

Doesn’t matter. I still feel, as a wife, it’s my duty to advise him the best way to do his job that he’s been doing about 25 years that I’ve never done a day in my life.

Because that’s just the way it is.

Everyday I call and ask the same old question: “So…anything good happening?”

Most days, his response is the same: “Not too much…just alarm calls and loose dogs and goats and stuff like that…nothing big.”

(Which is totally the response I’m looking for. I’m ready to retire in about 5 years and the last thing I need is to have to spend his hard-earned pension to hire someone to drive me around in that RV because he’s been shot or injured and can’t drive me around in it.)

(And thank you, Jesus. He’s been doing this job for so long, he’s in a supreme, cream of the crop district where very little hardcore violence goes on. Yes, he’s been in shoot outs and has been shot at and he’s shot at others. Then put them away in prison for life. But it’s time to chase goats for a while, as far as I’m concerned. Goats don’t shoot back. He’s paid his dues.)

But.

The other day, I got a different response: “Well, I’ve been on this domestic dispute and family violence thing all morning and I’ve about had enough with these two.”

He proceeds to tell me the wife threw a coffee mug at the husband and split his ear wide open. He gets out there and yeah…lots of blood. And a big, fat chiseled up ear hanging off this dude’s head.

And here’s how it went down.

*********************************

Keith: “He said she got pissed and just turned and threw the mug at him and clocked him square in the ear.”

Me: “For what?”

Keith: “Who knows? Maybe she’s crazy or losing it. He just said they’ve been arguing a bunch and she threw it at him this morning.”

Me: “Waaaaaaait a minute right there, Barney. There’s more to this. Give it up.”

Keith: “Well, he said HE was mad because she took his truck keys and wouldn’t give’em back. He had to go to work and she wasn’t letting him leave.”

Me: “Keeeeeeeeep going.”

Keith: “I asked her why she was holding the keys and she said he’s been telling her he was working all week, then she got ahold of his pay stub and he was only paid for 25 hours rather than 40 hours.”

Me: “AHHHH HAAAA!! That’s it! I know exactly how this went down!”

Keith: “What??”

Me: “I’m telling you, dude. When it comes to domestic disputes and family violence, y’all need to send ONLY female officers. A damn woman will get to the bottom of that crap in no time. I ALREADY KNOW WHAT HAPPENED AND I WASN’T EVEN THERE!”

Keith: “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Me: “Hell to the yes, I do. She clocked his ass with that coffee mug because she has had enough of his crap. He’s been telling her he was going to work all week, but she gets his pay stub that says he’s only been showing up half the week. She took the truck keys, because let’s face it, it’s probably HER truck anyway and she ain’t giving him HER truck to troll around town lying to her about working and what he’s doing. She’ most likely been carrying the rent for the last few months and paying that truck note that HE’S driving around in.”

Keith: “You think that’s it.”

Me: “Hell yes, I do. Women don’t do crap like that on the FIRST screw up. They take shit and take shit and take shit till they’ve had enough, then they blow. She blew. She’s tired of his lies and his excuses and all of his whiney reasons for everything he ain’t doing. So, as he tried to seduce her with one of his ass-y-hat lies this morning, she had enough, lost it….AND CLOCKED HIS ASS WITH THE COFFEE MUG.”

Keith: “Maybe you’re right. He didn’t want to press charges but I’m left with this big report to do on it now.”

Me: “HE DIDN’T WANT TO PRESS CHARGES BECAUSE HE KNOWS HIS ASS IS IN THE WRONG AND HE AIN’T GOT A LEG TO STAND ON OR AN EAR TO LISTEN WITH NOW!”

Keith: “Maybe so. I don’t care. They just wouldn’t stop going at each other and it was like refereeing a couple of kids. Pointing fingers, cursing, accusations…I finally asked if they BOTH wanted to head to Central Booking and they retreated to their own corners and said they’d work it out on their own.”

Me: “Yep. I knew it. A woman knows a woman.”

Keith: “You think you know everything.”

Me: “Women are the backbone to everything. Put a woman in a lead role and she’ll take shit off others for just so long then enough is enough. Like all this border control stuff and this terrorist stuff…we don’t negotiate for long. We do it just long enough to humor men. We know from the beginning…we’re doing it our way and it doesn’t really matter what anyone else thinks because in the end, WE’RE the ones having to answer for all the shit everyone else screwed up.”

****************

Conversation was over.

And that, my friends….is why I should have a badge.

Or at least a dashboard siren.

Or a Kojak fake bald head cover.

Us women. We are the friggin bombs.

Always fixing things and making things right and figuring things out and tolerating crap and putting up with way more than we should. What would the damn world do without us???

High-five, sisters…we’re awesome.

]]>http://asassyredhead.com/2014/09/i-might-be-married-to-the-law-but-its-a-known-truth-i-am-the-law-and-if-i-had-no-hair-you-could-call-me-kojak.html/feed10http://asassyredhead.com/2014/09/i-might-be-married-to-the-law-but-its-a-known-truth-i-am-the-law-and-if-i-had-no-hair-you-could-call-me-kojak.htmlThere should still be phones ripped out of the walls because then I wouldn’t be filled with guilt right now.http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ASassyRedhead/~3/TvYLPhjIsDM/there-should-still-be-phones-ripped-out-of-the-walls-because-then-i-wouldnt-be-filled-with-guilt-right-now.html
http://asassyredhead.com/2014/09/there-should-still-be-phones-ripped-out-of-the-walls-because-then-i-wouldnt-be-filled-with-guilt-right-now.html#commentsMon, 08 Sep 2014 19:24:14 +0000http://asassyredhead.com/?p=1973

My mother was the only CEO of Guilt Trips Dot Com…until she sold her shares to my husband.

He bought me perfume.

For no reason.

No birthday. No holiday. No anniversary.

Never mind the fact I’ve been leaving my 98% empty bottle by my sink on the bathroom counter each morning.

Then it slowly moved over to about the middle of our two sinks.

And maybe a few mornings his toothbrush was propped up against it by his sink.

I was a little fussy over the weekend.

(I know. Imagine that.)

Fussy enough to know it was best I keep my fat mouth shut or I’d more than likely say something I’d 4 minutes later regret but by then it’d be too late and the damage would be done and I’d have to eat crow.

All because that hormonal 16-year old teenager lied and I didn’t think her punishment was harsh enough.

(I never lied to my parents at 16.)

(Nope. Never had the phone-that-was-connected-to-the-wall-by-a-supremely-long-cord-like-we-had-back-in-the-old-days ripped straight out of the wall by my daddy.)

(Never. Cause I didn’t lie.)

(Ehem.)

It was basically nothing.

He asked her if she made a phone call I had asked her to make and she said she did.

Him: “You did? When?”

Her: “Earlier today when she told me to.”

Him: “Oh, then let me see your phone…I wanna know exactly when the call was made.”

She froze.

Her: “OHMYGOD!! OK, I HAVEN’T CALLED YET!”

Him: “So you just lied to me? You just looked at my face and lied!”

Blah, blah, blah. Whatever. She lied.

He told her to get her room cleaned and the hallway swept. Then he shut her door and fumed all the way back to the back porch with smoke billowing out of his nose holes.

(FRIGGIN WHAT?!? THAT’S IT?? CLEAN YOUR ROOM? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? NO TAKING OF THE CAR KEYS? NO RIPPING THE PHONE OUT OF THE WALL IF THERE WAS SUCH A THING AS RIPPING THE PHONE OUT OF THE WALL THESE DAYS? JUST CLEAN YOUR FRIGGIN ROOM??)

Ten minutes later, all three of us are sitting at the dinner table as if nothing just happened.

Oh, they’re talking football and sports and about some dude that asked her on a date and THERE IS STILL NO RIPPING THE PHONE OUT OF THE WALL IF THERE WAS SUCH A THING AS RIPPING THE PHONE OUT OF THE WALL THESE DAYS.

It’s like I’m sitting in a damn Twilight Zone episode.

She lied. He’s no longer nose-hole-smoke-blowing. But I’m fuming.

I know she didn’t just rob a bank. I know she didn’t just blow up a car.

She just lied.

(Like I never did.)

(And I mean, come on. If you’re gonna lie…don’t waste it on something so damn frivolous as a phone call! Lie about studying. Lie about not sneaking out of your room. Lie about not drinking some of my wine. But a phone call?)

(In a twisted kind of way, this somewhat upsets me. I would have hoped in some sort of way my evil genius-ness would have rubbed off on her to where, yes…I’d be pissed. But then deep down inside, I’d be proud of the sneaky and smooth way she effortlessly breezed through some sort of retched teenager-y crap that would be making my blood pressure spew.)

(But a phone call?)

Anyway.

I could no longer take the let’s-be-nice-and-act-like-no-wrong-was-done-and-high-five-each-other-over-stupid-crap-Carrie-doesn’t-understand. I whipped up all the plates, threw them in the dishwasher and blew out of the house.

Said I was going to get me something to drink at Sonic. A cranberry juice to be exact.

Him: “Hey, I’ll go with you.”

Me: “NO YOU STAY RIGHT HERE I NEED TIME ALONE AND I’M GOING BY MYSELF AND I’M GOING IN THE JEEP.”

(Except I said it with gritted teeth. And there may or may not have been some daggers shooting out of my eyes.)

I came back with my cranberry juice 15 minutes later. Said nothing to either of them.

STILL NO RIPPED PHONE OUT OF THE WALL IF THERE WAS SUCH A THING AS A RIPPED PHONE OUT OF THE WALL THESE DAYS.

First time I believe I went to bed without telling him I loved him. First time I didn’t speak to him the next morning.

(I faked still being asleep when he left for work. He kissed me on the cheek and whispered, “I love you” and I laid there and faked it. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.)

(Kept my eyes SHUT. Hard.)

During the day, I dug out the old pulpit my dad used to use and that thing still works! I preached and gave that hormonal 16-year old teenager my thoughts on what had happened the night before and we’re all on the up and up now.

Told her to remember that “I” will not tolerate the crap her daddy does and to remember who she’s gonna be asking to take her prom dress shopping and who she’s gonna be asking to take her shoe shopping and to remember who’s gonna be keeping her little teenager-y secrets from her daddy later when I catch her because “I WILL catch you every time”.

And if she COULDN’T remember just who that was…to think of the prom dress her daddy will be picking out for her and the shoes he’ll be having her wear.

That did it. She all but broke out into a cold sweat.

See…I’m not a parent. Keith is. It is my job to be supportive of him so he can take care of her.

But she’s my responsibility, too. He likes to take the calm and easy way to things. He believes the punishment should fit the crime.

Me? I like to see roofs blow up and farm animals blowing through the air. Phones ripped out of the wall if there was such a thing as ripping the phone out of the wall these days.

Ain’t nobody got time for calm and easy.

(Of course, I called him during the day and apologized for being my normal, ass-y self and he acted like there was never anything wrong to begin with.)

When he came home, he handed me a bottle of my perfume.

Me: “What’s this for?”

Him: “You’re out. And I wanted to get you more.”

Me: “But I’ve been so fussy and didn’t let you go to Sonic with me and I faked being asleep when you left this morning and you bring me perfume??”

Him: “I know. But do you think all of that makes me love you less? I’ve been meaning to get it for a week now. Sorry it took so long.”

Annnnnnd welcome to Guilt Trips Dot Com.

Where the trips are short but the price is high.

(I need to go call mom and dad and apologize again for all those times I didn’t lie to them.)

(And then once I hang up, I’m gonna have to call them back. It’s gonna take a while on this one. Because yes, I didn’t lie to them THAT much.)

This blog thing started a few years ago as something like maybe a hobby. I’ve never liked to write and my high school English teacher, Mr. Atmar, would literally croak if he thought for one minute I put words on paper for people to read.

(He used to tell me his eyes would burn when he had to read some essay or story I had to write in his class.)

(I always enjoyed him and he did me. He always pushed me to strive for me.)

My grammar is horrible. And I’m fairly sure God and Mr. Atmar are probably the only ones who know what a dangling marsupial is.

(No, wait. It’s participle, isn’t it? A dangling participle. Yeah.)

So, one day I thought I’d try to do a blog thing then found myself liking it. Then found myself liking other blogs I would read. Then found myself liking the blog writers of the other blogs I read. Then found myself liking my readers. Then found myself feeling like I actually knew my blog readers better than the people I know in real life.

Then when I did a Facebook page for my blog, I found I actually love chatting with my “likers” on it.

(Yes. I said love. And maybe I throw that word around too much. But really, can love seriously be thrown around too much these days??)

My blog and you, have somewhat become a therapy for me. Thank you for no copay.

So many other blog writers bare their souls. They open their soul for the world to pick apart. I haven’t always been that brave. But well, today I’m kinda being a little brave.

So just bear with me on this one.

I get tired. Of everything.

I get tired of the news. I get tired of the finger-pointing. I get tired of the blame.

I get tired of doing the right thing only to feel it’s never enough.

I get tired of working then wondering what I’m working for.

I get tired of expectations. I get tired of disappointments.

I get tired of offering a smile to a face that turns away.

I get tired of those who always believe they know a better way to do it.

I get tired of politics. I get tired of religion.

I get tired of Democrats who bash Republicans.

I get tired of Republicans who bash Democrats.

I get tired of gays bashing straights.

I get tired of straights bashing gays.

I get tired of seeing the taxes on my paycheck skyrocket after I’ve worked so hard all week.

I get tired of seeing the taxes on my paycheck go to those with no ambition or desire to work.

I get tired of being held accountable when the reward is to only be held more accountable.

I get tired of those who are held unaccountable when the reward is to only be held even less accountable.

I get tired of those who are forgiven but refuse to forgive.

I get tired of those who never take responsibility then bitch about how things are done.

I get tired of those who take on too much responsibility then bitch about having to do everything.

I get tired.

And if you think for one minute I’m not looking in the mirror on most of this, you’re only kidding yourself.

I do my best to be kind to everyone who crosses my path. But everyday it gets harder and harder. I’m gonna keep on keeping on though.

Why? I keep telling myself, the one person I choose to be unkind to, may be the one person who needed my kindness the most.

And I’ll never know.

This world has taken on an “it’s ONLY about me” mentality and a “Fuck you if you don’t believe as I do” attitude.

And I’m going to do my best to just bitch about it, instead of joining it.

]]>http://asassyredhead.com/2014/08/im-tired-its-as-simple-as-that-im-just-tired.html/feed26http://asassyredhead.com/2014/08/im-tired-its-as-simple-as-that-im-just-tired.htmlIf there is anything you need to know about keeping your job and I’m not around you can always hit up the internet and see if she can help.http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ASassyRedhead/~3/XqPOEHGztXU/if-there-is-anything-you-need-to-know-and-im-not-around-you-can-always-hit-up-the-internet-and-see-if-she-can-help.html
http://asassyredhead.com/2014/08/if-there-is-anything-you-need-to-know-and-im-not-around-you-can-always-hit-up-the-internet-and-see-if-she-can-help.html#commentsWed, 20 Aug 2014 19:02:29 +0000http://asassyredhead.com/?p=1956

Thank goodness for the internet.

Especially web sites on the internet.

Those web sites on the internet with information. Informative stuff. The can’t-go-another-minute-without-knowing-this-crap-or-you-will-forever-not-know-this-crap kind of stuff.

Like:

A. What color some Kardashian paints her toenails

B. How to know if you’re in a good relationship or if you should get a dog

C. What percentage of water to look for in your celery

Because of the internet and the web sites on the internet that have the articles with such informative information, I now know how to keep my job and stay on good terms with bosses.

Because it said so.

(Like “I” need more know-how on how to know if the bosses love me?)

(Or not.)

According to this little informative informational article with the informative information that I felt compelled to jam between my ears, if I say these things at the work joint, the bosses are sure to hate me.

(Oh, reeeeeeeally?)

1. “That’s not how we did it at my old job.”

I’ve been at my current job for over 79 years. This IS my old job. Therefore, this IS how we did it at my old job. I’m safe on this one.

2. “So-and-so isn’t doing his work.”

I’m too busy trying to look busy to be concerned with whether anyone else is busy or is not busy doing their work. Plus, I really don’t care if anyone else is busy as long as they’re not busy bothering me while I’m trying to look busy. Therefore, safe on this one, too.

3. “How’d I do? How’d I do? How’d I do?”

Never in my 207 years in the workforce have I ever uttered these words. And don’t plan to. Still safe.

4. “That’s not my job.”

No one is really all that sure exactly what my job is, anyway. Though I’ve never spewed these words out for any other ears to hear, it would do me no good. It’d be more like me to ask, “Is THIS my job?” Apparently, safe again.

I will sleep much better now, my family will continue to have A/C, the car will not be repossessed, the dog will continue to eat, and that bottle of chardonnay will be bought, all because I now know what not to say to stay on good terms with the bosses.

So, many thanks to the internet and the web sites on the internet with the informative informational information.

May the bosses continue to tolerate me for another 94 years.

]]>http://asassyredhead.com/2014/08/if-there-is-anything-you-need-to-know-and-im-not-around-you-can-always-hit-up-the-internet-and-see-if-she-can-help.html/feed18http://asassyredhead.com/2014/08/if-there-is-anything-you-need-to-know-and-im-not-around-you-can-always-hit-up-the-internet-and-see-if-she-can-help.htmlA bald head and really bad bangs still just go together. Even if they’re miles apart.http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ASassyRedhead/~3/fDj1rqfTMvI/a-bald-head-and-really-bad-bangs-still-just-go-together-even-if-theyre-miles-apart.html
http://asassyredhead.com/2014/08/a-bald-head-and-really-bad-bangs-still-just-go-together-even-if-theyre-miles-apart.html#commentsFri, 08 Aug 2014 13:40:44 +0000http://asassyredhead.com/?p=1951We met in the second grade in Miss Johnson’s class. We had to sit by each other in those double desks that grade schools had back then. We immediately hit it off. We gave each other full permission to dig in each other’s cigar boxes. (That was what we had back then…not the fancy stuff […]]]>

We met in the second grade in Miss Johnson’s class.

We had to sit by each other in those double desks that grade schools had back then. We immediately hit it off.

We gave each other full permission to dig in each other’s cigar boxes.

I spent many weekends at her family’s cabin on the lake. She spent many weekends at my family’s cabin at the beach.

Her mother threw the bible at us and made us read some scripture stuff in it because she heard us use the term, “Well, hells bells” when we thought she wasn’t around.

We were about 10.

My mother barked and yelled and threatened us within an inch of our life because she smelled Bartles and Jaymes Strawberry Daquiri on our breath.

We were about 14.

We snuck Oreos onto the field at our high school graduation and passed them back and forth. We sat two seats a part that night.

We were about 18.

We caused lots and lots and lots of trouble all through those years. Pretty much side-by-side.

This morning, she is sitting in the waiting room at MD Anderson Hospital in Houston.

Bald.

This morning, I’m sitting at my desk at the office in Austin.

With really bad bangs.

We’re 45.

Sometimes life seems miserably wrong and unfair.

But her biggest question this morning?

“Now that I’m bald, do I use soap or shampoo?”

(I suggested a shammy thing or one of those cloth things you use to make your car shiny.)

(And wigs. Here’s her chance to be a redhead! Curly one day, short one day, long one day…live it up!)

My biggest question this morning?

“Now that I’m seeing gray, do I color it or not?”

Her faith is strong enough to support an entire small country.

Her faith is right now supporting my faith.

And she’s the one bald.

So, yeah…sometimes life seems miserably wrong and unfair.

But most of the time, life is immeasurably beautiful.

And that’s worth every day we can get with a shiny bald head and really bad bangs.

]]>http://asassyredhead.com/2014/08/a-bald-head-and-really-bad-bangs-still-just-go-together-even-if-theyre-miles-apart.html/feed20http://asassyredhead.com/2014/08/a-bald-head-and-really-bad-bangs-still-just-go-together-even-if-theyre-miles-apart.htmlThe last thing you need from me is preaching…so just be kind and I’ll spare us all the ridiculousness of it. Plus, I probably can’t see over the pulpit anyway.http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ASassyRedhead/~3/UmXthpIkNrE/the-last-thing-you-need-from-me-is-preaching-so-just-be-kind-and-ill-spare-us-all-the-ridiculousness-of-it-plus-i-probably-cant-see-over-the-pulpit-anyway.html
http://asassyredhead.com/2014/08/the-last-thing-you-need-from-me-is-preaching-so-just-be-kind-and-ill-spare-us-all-the-ridiculousness-of-it-plus-i-probably-cant-see-over-the-pulpit-anyway.html#commentsWed, 06 Aug 2014 14:01:11 +0000http://asassyredhead.com/?p=1946Yeah, yeah. We went RV’ing last weekend. You already know this. And are sick of hearing about it, but don’t click off of here just yet. Our drive to the campground and our way back home had a little something in common. Something most people probably don’t think about or even do on the road. (I […]]]>

Yeah, yeah.

We went RV’ing last weekend. You already know this. And are sick of hearing about it, but don’t click off of here just yet.

Our drive to the campground and our way back home had a little something in common.

Something most people probably don’t think about or even do on the road.

(I do think about it because I do it usually all the time if you’re driving around me and haven’t been going 12 mph in the left lane or if you didn’t cut me off when I had my stupid blinker on trying to change lanes for 2 days and then here you come roaring up the lane I’m trying to get into then slow up right next to me so I can’t do anything but slow down and get behind you which I am totally NOT going to do because you are an asshat-y loser, or get on the bumper of the slow poke in front of me so I can jut my way in front of you barely missing your bumper by a smidge.)

(Not that any of this has ever happened.)

Anyway.

Something most people probably don’t think about or even do on the road?

Wave.

Just simply wave. A small little barely-using-any-energy hand flap back and forth from the wrist up.

Here’s just a glimpse of my life on the road last weekend with the dude RV driver I call my man and his conversation with himself behind the wheel while I was rattling about something else that he was totally not listening to:

“Really? No wave?”

“Uh, hello. I pull to the shoulder to let you pass and you can’t even wave?”

“Oh, my God…did you see that? An RV just like ours just went past us and the driver didn’t even wave!”

“Oh, I see how you people are. I risk my rig pulling over on this half-ass shoulder to let all 4 of y’all pass and not one of you can even say thanks with a wave. I see.”

“That’s it fellow…you’re the last one going around me. I’m officially gonna be one of those drivers who hog the road because none of you people appreciate me moving over enough to even say thanks with a wave.”

And on and on and on and on and on.

(Kill me. Kill me now.)

I was over in my seat trying to guess if the song on the radio was by Rush or AC/DC and he’s all eat up with the fact nobody has the courtesy to say thanks with a wave.

I told him to just shut it and move over. Who cares if they don’t wave. YOU be nice and do the kind thing.

“When you have to choose between doing what’s right and doing what’s kind…go with kindness every time. It is always a better payoff.”

Now, speed up to me getting my morning oatmeal at McDonalds. That oatmeal I could marry I love it so much. With all the little fruit-y goodness and raisins and yeah, that one.

I’m in the drive thru and a man is trying to walk across the drive thru lane to the restaurant from the business next door.

Three idiot cars ahead of me drive by him and not one even slows up to let the man through.

(Damn, he’s just wanting to grab some grub, people…give him a break.)

Then here I come.

He isn’t even trying to cross anymore. Just standing there hating every car in line because those first three fools all but made him a hood ornament.

I waved him across.

He lit up like a Christmas tree.

He waved. He smiled. He trotted across the lane. He got across to the curb. He turned back. He smiled again. He waved again.

All I could see was teeth and this hand flapping back and forth from the wrist up.

And all I had to do was keep my size 5 black point-y toe pump on the brake for about 4.8 seconds.

Then of course, that made me smile and wave back.

Remember back after 9/11 happened?

Remember how people were kind. They were considerate. They were friendly. They were nice. They were patient. They were smile-y. They were pleasant. They were helpful. They were gracious. They were gentle.

If you were at the grocery store and had a can of corn and the person in front of you in line had a full buggy, they offered for you to go ahead of them instead of waiting.

(Buggy = basket and/or cart down here in the South.)

If you were out-of-town over the weekend and the neighbor mowed his yard, you came home to your yard mysteriously mowed.

If you were standing at the counter paying for your….oh, I don’t know….ice cream and it’s $3.07 so you hand the cashier $4 and the person behind you says, “Here’s the .07”.

Yeah, that kind of stuff.

What the hell happened? Where is the “let’s be at least kinda nice and just smile or maybe lift our fat arms and wave at a stranger” mentality?

Maybe I’m living in a fantasy-land hoping that people can just friggin be nice for no reason or for the simple fact it makes them feel better to be nice whether the person receiving their niceness appreciates it or not, but leave me alone and leave me here in my fantasy-land.

But do me a favor.

Just today.

(Or whatever you’re reading this drivel.)

Wave at somebody. Just smile and wave.

And if they flip you off, so what. If they don’t wave back, so what. If they smile and wave back, even better.

But just do it.

Because it’s kind. And this stupid world needs all the damn kindness it can get right now.

I’m not asking for world peace. It appears that probably ain’t ever gonna happen. But maybe if we all just waved at each other, we’d have a better shot at it?